Blog Archives

Here Comes the News, by Mariella Angela Olde

16/8/2024

As a kid, answering phone calls was one of my hobbies when my parents weren’t around. I’d meet different personalities and practice my communication skills with each call.

One night, the telephone rang, jolting me awake. I picked up and said, “Hello?” It was my mother who answered, her voice trembling. “Your dear grandmother... She is gone.”

I broke down and dropped the telephone. Silence surrounded the room. The device that once connected me to the world is now a source of loss. Each call had been a lesson, but none had prepared me for this final, unanswerable one.

Temporal Interlude, by Yvonne Stevens

16/8/2024

She lounged, welcoming the warmth of summer. Sipping her homemade lemonade, she fondled the blades of grass with her bare feet. Life was good.
Her gaze lingered; each flower a spectacle of colour and perfume. And then a snail edged its way across the path. She followed its silvery slime glistening in early sunlight, leading towards the verdant shade of hostas.
Spilling her drink, she sprinted to the path. She snatched the mollusc before it reached its goal. With javelin sharp aim, it flew - landing in the neighbouring field.

Keep Repeating “It’s Only a Movie…,” by Steven Holding

15/8/2024

Languishing in a cinema, laughing. Strong drinks, slipped in, sipped through straws. Blood lipstick red, fake like latex scars. In the axe-maniacs aftermath, a gormless corpse blinks, giving everything away.
Later, an ER; early AM, nearly empty, unaware we were waiting to happen, brushing away crushed diamonds; tears cried, frozen.
You’re a broken sparrow, twisted beneath blankets, pinned down so the wind won’t blow you away.
Head where it shouldn’t be.
I wipe away the red stuff. Dip a finger, put it to my lips, praying for the taste of ketchup.
Watching for your wink before the director yells CUT.

Tea and Trouble, by Jeff Currier

15/8/2024

Emin sipped his tea, but fumes from something bubbling in the kitchen made his stomach roil.
“What is that?” Emin finally asked.
“Witch’s brew from Macbeth,” Hilde replied.
“Aren’t some of those plants deadly?”
Hilde stared back blankly.
“Eye of newt is mustard seed, toe of frog, buttercup, wool of bat—”
“No, it’s Shakespeare’s literal brew. Admittedly, I got inventive with dragon’s scale. Just one ingredient missing. Nose of Turk.”
Emil grew dizzy, sweating.
“Luckily, I had extra hemlock digg’d i’ the dark.” Hilde unsheathed a razor-sharp knife. “Always proclaiming you’re descended from Ottoman royalty. Your nose will do.”

Can't Go On, by John M. Carlson

15/8/2024

This men’s room was a depressing place to die. But it was convenient, and it would be easy for someone to clean later. Greg pulled out his gun.

“No!”

Greg looked and saw Helen. “You can’t be here!”

“This restroom is empty. And it’s not like seeing a urinal will kill me. I died an hour ago, remember?”

He remembered.

“I know you. I know you think you can’t go on without me. But you must! We’ll be together again soon enough.” Helen disappeared.

Ghost? Hallucination? Greg wondered.

He put his gun away and left the restroom.

Twenty Twenty Vision, by Bill Cox

15/8/2024

I visited my brother Johnny in hospital.

“They hurt me bad, Davie. Broke both my legs!”

I shook my head at his stupidity.

“You gambled with the wrong folk.”

He grinned that daft grin of his.

“Well, I was cheating!”

“How?” I asked.

“I’ve got X-ray specs,” he replied, “I could see their cards!”

“X-ray specs,” I laughed, “What are you? Twelve?”

“I’ll prove it,” he said, picking up a pair of dark glasses and putting them on.

“…In your wallet, in your jacket pocket…You’ve got…a naked photo of...my wife…”

Family dinners were awkward after that.

The Futile Desires of the Dead, by Glenn Francis Faelnar

15/8/2024

The skies roared and the ground shook as the pact between God and the Devil came into fruition. Awakened from my deep slumber, I desperately tried to escape this prison most would call a grave. My heart was filled with vengeance and my gut lusted for the living, as I made my way through the dirt.

But alas, fate had other plans.

My brittle bones could not handle the sheer weight of my rage. My arms separated from my body and I was left unable to continue.

And so, I cursed God and the Devil for this tasteless joke.

A Matter of Perspective, by Haley Carter

15/8/2024

“It’s upside down,” Hannah insisted, impatiently shoving in front of Radar to turn the painting.

The boy frowned. “No way. See these lines? They’re going this way.” He returned the painting to its former—proper—position. “That’s how it should be.”

Hannah sniffed. “Anyone with eyes can see it doesn’t go like that.” She flipped it again.

Asa, upon hearing voices in the hallway, joined them. “You know that’s the back, right?” He turned it around to reveal a stuffy portrait of Aunt Aviva.

Hannah and Radar recoiled. “The back was better,” they said in unison.

Mirror Mirror, by Jane Bidder

15/8/2024

He stares at me in stony silence. Cold. Immovable.
I have that effect on men these days. Disappointing. I used to have my pick of the bunch — until that business with Athena.
Does my appearance let me down? I can’t tell; she stole my mirrors.
I run gentle fingers through my hair. Once it flowed softly like finest silk; now it’s as tangled as a vipers’ nest. No longer can I wash it squeaky clean — an angry hiss is all I get.
Look! This still pond reflects the sky. I’ll just peep in and see what I…

The Teetotaller, by Sivan Pillai

15/8/2024

I met Raj after a long interval. His father, who had glassy eyes associated with alcoholics, was our English teacher during the final school years. It was rumoured that he was always under the influence of alcohol. He would ask students to learn two paragraphs of every prose lesson he taught by heart and physically punished those who failed, though corporal punishment was illegal. As a result, many of us became proficient in English and chose English teaching as our career.
When our conversation turned to his father's drinking habit, Raj laughed out, saying, "He never consumed alcohol".

Mettle Counts, by Dee Lorraine

15/8/2024

Jasmine’s record-breaking run won the marathon. Four months earlier, she’d lost her mother to cancer.

Brian sank the three-pointer from his wheelchair. Teammates cheered. A car accident survivor three years earlier, he had undergone a double-leg amputation.

Stroke by stroke, Rostyslav fought past other swimmers to achieve his personal best. Halfway around the world, his hometown fights to maintain its independence.

The athletes smiled and held back tears as they displayed their medals. Gleaming gold, shining silver, brilliant bronze. Each is a testament to grit and determination, evidence of endurance, faith, and fearlessness. Showing their true mettle made them winners.

Unexpected Refuge, by Haley Carter

15/8/2024

His broken promises cut and flay. I flee, ripping through the mist of my evaporating dreams. With tear-stained cheeks, I pound the rocky path toward an uncertain future—one brutally reliant upon me alone. My legs weary, but I persevere, determined to outrun my hurt.

But I can’t. His eyes, eternally etched into my psyche, are everywhere, anchoring my escape.

I collapse, roadworn, chest heaving, my face to the sun.

Something prickles my hand.

Startled, I stare. An unconcerned caterpillar sunbathes on my wrist. The smallest of friends—providing a most unexpected but welcome respite for my soul.

The Wreath, by Robert P. Bishop

14/8/2024

My next-door neighbor stopped by while I was tending my front flowerbeds. “John died last night,” Nick said. “Did you see the black wreath on his door?”

“No.”

“A black wreath means someone is going to die or has died.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“It’s an old Mediterranean custom, mostly out of style now.” Nick said goodbye and left.

The next morning when I stepped outside to get the newspaper, I saw a black wreath hanging on my door. I looked at my flowerbeds, glowing in warm morning sunshine, and thought: They are so beautiful. Who will care for them?

The Next Big Thing, by Robin Shepard

14/8/2024

Wally greased up his hair and combed it back a dozen times to find that sweet spot where the sides were sharp, the back wrapped glassy, and the top lay flat as table. His hair was an engineering triumph.

His pals were envious and imitated his hair at school on Monday. All the girls giggled as the boys paraded their perfectly parted ducktails through the hallways.

“Oh, Wally,” a girl sweetly crooned. “I just love your hair.” She shrieked, and her friends gathered around him and his gang of greasers.

“Ladies,” Wally said, “You’re looking at the next big thing.”

Almost Famous, by Robin Shepard

14/8/2024

Ticket sales were positive for a Wednesday. The merch table should do well, he decided, especially with Miss Mandy selling.

The band had a dozen shows and 2,000 miles behind them. They were tight, but looser, better than the early days, and though they’d broken up a decade earlier, they triumphantly returned to the Whisky for this last show of the tour.

In the dressing room, Mickey slicked back his black, freshly dyed pompadour. He was older and heavier. His voice was rough. In the mirror, that old devil grinned back, and Mickey believed he could almost be famous again.

What’s for Dessert? by Nicole Niswonger

14/8/2024

Last night, Ethan overheard his parents talking in hushed voices.

"Tomorrow night, let’s make time for dessert," his dad said.

His mom giggled, "I'll make it extra sweet."

Ethan’s mind filled with thoughts of cupcakes, sundaes, and cookies. He rushed home, his mouth watering in anticipation. Bursting through the door, he asked, "So, what's for dessert?"

His mom looked confused. "Dessert? We hadn’t planned anything."

Ethan frowned, "But you said it’d be extra sweet!"

His parents exchanged a look, then exploded in laughter.

"Ethan," his dad said, "We weren’t talking about food."

Ethan’s face flushed red with understanding.

The Fly, by Paritosh Chandra Dugar

14/8/2024

A fly perched comfortably on the ailing man’s arm addresses him gently, “I have been bothering you so often, yet you don’t even try to crush me or brush me away! Other people abhor me and take all measures to keep me at bay.” The sick man replies in a sinking voice, “All my life, I looked after my people when they were ill. But, today, I am lying here as a neglected log of wood. No one around. My loneliness is killing me faster than my disease. You are my sole companion. My saviour.

The fly forgot to fly

Tickle Mary, by Stephen Goodlad

14/8/2024

“It’s a long way to tickle Mary, it’s a long way to go”
Elsie’s affectation for mispronunciation amused the carers on the bus heading to the seaside for the Oldies annual trip.
“We’re off to Blackpool Hallucinations” She announced.
Once on the Promenade she directed her wheelchair with purpose towards a Rock shop followed by several others.
“You had a whip-round Elsie” asked the shop assistant.
“I have Mary, here you go.”
The fairy-cakes she bought with hidden ingredients were shared.
Soon there was mayhem as wheelchairs and walking frames chased pink monsters and blue elephants. Dismal reality was forgotten.

The Genesis of a Revolution, by Sankar Chatterjee

14/8/2024

“Who made you the leader of this rebellion?” the army-chief asked heavily-tortured Hamid.

“You, Sir,” the youth's voice thundered.

Bemused strongman wondered: “How so?”

“Twenty years ago, my father sacrificed his life for this nation’s independence. Then the current dictator appeared in the scene, emboldened by your forces,” Hamid voiced.

“That’s my duty,” responded the chief.

Blood-dripping rebel flashed: “Didn’t you take the oath to protect this nation's democracy? Look around, who gained the most?”

The chief smirked: “Your life is now in my hands.”

Hamid smiled: “My duty was to plant the seed of revolution for the next generation.”

The Place of Abandoned Dreams, by David Lowis

14/8/2024

With just enough energy to complete its journey, the dream ascended into the sunset's amber glow. It arrived at the pit of abandoned dreams, scanning the crowded surface for a place to settle before drifting down and nestling in a crevice.

From its resting place, the dream witnessed others of its kind occasionally rise from the surface and soar into the light. That meant someone had reignited the dream – perhaps the original dreamer or perhaps even somebody new.

And that remained the dream's only hope now. That someday it would emerge again in somebody's mind and escape this hellish place.

Wedding Day, by Tom Baldwin

14/8/2024

Winner 2024 Edinburgh Festival Contest

It was a quiet wedding, with just their parents to witness the ceremony, and afterwards she wheeled her new husband to the restaurant across the road. The meal, and short but heart-felt speeches over, his parents helped him into their car and drove them home.

In the garden she wheeled him onto the patio, sat on the bench beside him and opened a bottle of champagne while his parents discreetly withdrew.

As they enjoyed their second glass in the afternoon sun the new bride answered her phone — the hospice could take her husband tomorrow.

Dark Noises, by Sharyn Grimes

14/8/2024

I’d become used to the strange little creatures inhabiting the derelict military research facility, but the chittering and scurrying sounds that usually accompanied my security rounds were hushed tonight. The red, oddly-configured eyes that always followed me from the holes in the walls, darted nervously and retreated as I shone my flashlight over them. Their unease was contagious, and I tensed as the air suddenly chilled. The emergency exit lights flickered and died. An unfamiliar metallic clawing noise echoed up the stairwell from the flooded basement. The clawing grew louder. Sharper. Closer. Something big was climbing the stairs.

The Rain Dance, by Angela Carlton

13/8/2024

They told me to take the blue pills after you died, mother, but no-no. Instead, I collected 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8 pills, shoved them inside my dresser, my fingers sliding on silk until I found the rainstick.
Quietly, I slipped out my window at 4 am to walk the neighborhood, shirtless in a pair of panties, the color of sorrow. The voices told me to shake-shake-shake that stick, dance, dance until the heavens, o-p-e-n-e-d, up.

When a slight breeze ruffled my hair, I stretched out my arms as cool rain drops came down-down-down. It all washed over me, mother, you-you, you’re healing tears.

The Perennial Summer Invasion, by Glo Curl

13/8/2024

The water’s deep, the struggle pitiful to watch. I could continue onwards, forget I saw this desperate fight for survival. What’s the loss of one among thousands? They’re scum in many people’s eyes. But the picture of suffering burns like a hot poker into my conscience. It’s nothing, yet everything.

My gloved hands enter the water, scooping expertly under flailing legs; a thin stream trickles through my fingers. It’s not too late. No doubt she and her kin will return to bug me in a month or so but my heart sings as the wasp vanishes over the privet hedge.

No Need, by Colette Coen

13/8/2024

Sam waited for the pain to pass then unclenched her grip from the fence and kept going. At intervals along the road the same thing – the surge of pain, crumpling, easing, straightening.
Sam’s boyfriend was in the car alongside – stopping or driving in time with Sam’s movements. When she could walk, she knew she was certain, but when she’d to stop, she wondered. He wound his window down and blew out a cloud of cherry-flavoured vapour. He’d refused to stop though it made her nauseous – told her all she had to know.
‘Want a lift?’
She shook her head.

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